


Fix me, or just conflict me, 'cause I'll take anything

by Miyukitty



Series: Yowamushi Ghoul [7]
Category: Tokyo Ghoul, 弱虫ペダル | Yowamushi Pedal
Genre: Alternate Universe - Tokyo Ghoul, Arakita Yasutomo Swears, Asexuality Spectrum, Awkward Romance, Boys Kissing, Character Study, Cigarettes, Crossover, Denial of Feelings, Emotional Constipation, Fluff and Angst, I Solemnly Swear That I Am Up To No Good, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Insecurity, M/M, Mutual Pining, Scents & Smells, Slice of Life, Tension, Touch-Starved, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Workplace Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-24
Updated: 2015-10-24
Packaged: 2018-04-27 13:13:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,427
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5049943
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Miyukitty/pseuds/Miyukitty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fukutomi was exactly the kind of straight-laced rule-obsessed jerk that Arakita despised, and he took every opportunity from that day onward to let him know what he thought of their tenuous partnership. He wasn't reserved about letting his colleagues know what he thought about them, either. </p>
<p>That prettyboy Toudou, Fukutomi's previous partner, had it out for him – always with the snide comments, the first to tattle on him for every slip of the rules, and the only one with a bigger stick up his ass than Fukutomi. Shinkai was just a nosy fish-lipped pain in the ass, always asking personal questions and butting in where he wasn't welcome. </p>
<p>(And the younger ones, god – Manami was an annoying little shit, Izumida was a fuckin' weirdo, Kuroda was a loser, and all of them pissed him off daily.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fix me, or just conflict me, 'cause I'll take anything

**Author's Note:**

> Heyyy it's finally time for another installment of the crossover where no one lives happily ever after! This time it's Arakita's turn, and this is really more of a character study than something with plot. :> Good ol' CCG buddycop AU to get back into the swing of writing~ 
> 
>  
> 
> do i spy an ace spectrum arakita in this 'verse? :D i can't write allosexual characters ever apparently 
> 
>  
> 
> Not in the tags, but there are mentions of death/suicide/depression referencing this [preceding fic](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4017079/chapters/9028777) which you should probably read first. :U (You know who you are.) Nobody actually dies in this chapter tho, whoa! 
> 
> [Yowamushi Ghoul, where Sohoku are ghouls in Tokyo, Hakogaku are the CCG, the titles are trashy pop music lyrics, and I embarrass myself on the internet! This fic doesn't have any connection to canon TG events but it does assume reader has basic knowledge of ghoul anatomy.]

* * *

 

MONDAY

 

 

 

_Another week. Fuck my life._

  
  
The grey morning sky stretched endlessly over the jagged teeth of Tokyo's skyline. Arakita huddled in an alley, bony shoulders hunched forward, head bowed. It was a familiar routine where he wished he was still in bed or anywhere else but here.

  
In the shelter of the buildings' shadows he was less likely to be spotted by a coworker, but it was cold away from the sun. The chill seeped quickly through the white fabric of his uniform. It settled in his stiff elbow, making him shift his weight impatiently.

  
"Freezing my fuckin' balls off out here," he muttered under his breath. His hands, trembling ever-so-slightly, cupped around the fragile flame he was protecting from the wind. It sputtered, and he narrowed his beady eyes at it as if daring it to go out.

  
"Fuck regulations. I'm the one risking my ass every day for this job. I'd like to meet the pissant motherfucker who made it a _rule_ ," -here he spat contemptuously, and took a long drag from his cigarette, "-that investigators can't smoke on the premises. Who gives a shit about PT scores. I'll get butchered by a ghoul sooner than I'll get lung cancer. I shouldn't have to sneak out through the fuckin' parking garage on my breaks like a goddamn teenager hiding from his parents."

  
"Oh? You say that, but you really only care about Juichi not finding out," a pleasant voice stated conversationally. "The rest of us know."

  
Arakita jumped, flinging his cigarette to the pavement out of reflex. He ground the embers beneath his heel with a contemptuous snarl and rounded on his coworker.

  
"'The fuck, Shinkai! You asshole, I told you to stop sneaking up on me. You made me waste another one!"

  
Shinkai smiled lazily and took a bite from the protein bar he was snacking on, utterly unperturbed by Arakita's temper. Arakita growled and swatted the food to the ground, petulantly stomping on it for good measure. He barked a pitiless laugh at Shinkai's comically droopy frown, and jabbed a finger at the redhead's broad chest.

  
"That'll fuckin' show you! I'm not the only one with a bad habit around here. Don't judge me, fatass. And shut the fuck up about Fuku-chan," Arakita added. He jammed his hands into his pockets, trying to coerce some feeling back into his numb fingertips. Might as well go back inside before frostbite set in, if Shinkai insisted on hanging around to annoy him.

  
They headed back together, Shinkai grinning like an idiot and Arakita grumbling without much venom behind the words. He was still tense, damn it all. He needed a few more cigarettes to make it through Mondays.

 

* * *

 

TUESDAY

 

 

 

Arakita sat at his desk and glowered at the case report he was supposed to fill out by the end of the week. The backdrop of phone calls, rustling paper, and office life droned on around him, but he was tuned out, tapping his pen impatiently against the blank form.

  
Not every day was a mission. Paperwork was bullshit. He used to always leave reports for Fukutomi to fill out, since _he_ actually cared about regulations and documentation, but somewhere along the way Arakita started wanting to pull his weight around here.

  
The pen tip found its way into his mouth without him thinking about it. He chewed on it, distracted and tense, as he squinted at the block of text his mind refused to parse. He wondered, sometimes, why Fukutomi kept him around when he was no good at this. Why he had become some sort of exception. Why he deserved any of the trust he now held.

  
He didn't like not having an answer better than "Juichi likes the weird ones".

  
Arakita had been assigned as the stone-faced man's partner earlier that year because no one else wanted to deal with his attitude. Arakita sure didn't make it easy for Fukutomi; their first day had almost gotten him fired because he immediately picked a fist fight with his superior.

 

Fukutomi was exactly the kind of straight-laced rule-obsessed jerk that Arakita despised, and he took every opportunity from that day onward to let him know what he thought of their tenuous partnership. He wasn't reserved about letting his colleagues know what he thought about them, either.

 

That prettyboy Toudou, Fukutomi's previous partner, had it out for him – always with the snide comments, the first to tattle on him for every slip of the rules, and the only one with a bigger stick up his ass than Fukutomi. Shinkai was just a nosy fish-lipped pain in the ass, always asking personal questions and butting in where he wasn't welcome. (And the younger ones, god – Manami was an annoying little shit, Izumida was a fuckin' weirdo, Kuroda was a loser, and all of them pissed him off daily.)

  
Mostly he was just sick of people claiming they had his back when they really couldn't give a shit what happened to him.

 

Nobody from his old job had been in contact with him since the motorcycle accident ruined his elbow and his marksmanship. His old police unit had been all too happy to foist him off on the CCG after his surgery proved only partially successful. The CCG didn't exclusively use guns, so he still had a chance for a career, but he was too bitter about the loss of his unit to see any kind of silver lining. He hadn't come here to kiss anyone's ass or make friends; he just needed to make ends meet before he lost this place too.

  
Arakita snarled in exasperation and dragged his hands roughly through dark hair. He still felt the same way about all of those assholes he worked with. It was just more complicated now that he might want to stay. (What if he couldn't hack it?)

  
He bit the pen too hard and yelped as ink spurted in his mouth. "Fuck!" he spluttered, spitting pigment all over his desk. He slammed his hands down and stood abruptly, chair toppling to the floor. To their credit, Shinkai and Izumida barely glanced up from the coffeemaker, too accustomed to his outbursts to show more than mild curiosity.

  
"Going for another walk, Yasutomo?"

  
Arakita curled his lip but did not dignify Shinkai with an answer as he stalked down the hallway, hands shoved in his pockets to fumble for his lighter.

 

* * *

 

WEDNESDAY

 

 

  
  
_Outside again. Fan-fucking-tastic._

  
Arakita squinted angrily at the bright sun and wondered why it felt just as cold now as it had been when it was cloudy. Stupid useless sunlight. He took a long drag, savoring the burn in his lungs.

  
Sometimes the other investigators gossiped that Arakita had a ghoul's nose, or – given his temperament and habit of snarling – that he was secretly a half-ghoul trying to hide his heritage. (Arakita was pretty sure Toudou started this damn rumor.) This usually earned whatever unlucky coworker was overheard a string of curses and a punch in the arm, because what self-respecting officer of the CCG wanted to be called a ghoul?

 

Assholes. He was an ugly human, but he _was_ human.

  
Arakita supposed he did have an unusually keen sense of smell, but he just chalked it up to other people being unobservant idiots. If they wore shitty cologne or forgot their deodorant after hitting the gym, he was doing them a favor by pointing out that they reeked. And yeah, every once in a while it helped him solve a case, because ghouls reeked too (like rusted iron and rot). He didn't see himself as anything special, though. It wasn't a talent so much as another thing that made his life difficult.

  
He liked the stink of cigarettes, chemical and abrasive, because it scorched everything else out of his nostrils until all he could breathe and taste was ash. It was a break from the onslaught of smells in Tokyo; he got headaches from it all sometimes, and smoking made them go away. Simple as that.

  
Toudou had yammered on about the effects of nicotine addiction and how he would lose his only skill if he kept his "nasty habit", but Toudou wasn't around to nag him, was he? Arakita had gone up to a pack a day and no one was there to say a word.

  
There was only one scent he craved worse than the nicotine in his veins.

  
Fukutomi smelled like his aftershave: a distinct perfume of applewood, vanilla bourbon, and allspice. Arakita loved that scent. It wasn't just the artificial fragrance that drew him, though. There was something so comforting and solid about the man's presence that could never be contained in a bottle.

 

(He didn't know how to describe it in words – Arakita was hardly poetic, and his vocabulary was shit, but there was something about Fuku-chan he could not ignore.)

  
Sometimes – like today – it was hard to sit still and listen to briefings with Fukutomi pacing around the conference table. The open cases their unit was taking on and the suspected ghoul activity they were supposed to investigate was an annoying buzz in the background. The whole time Arakita itched to grab a fistful of that bleached blond hair, so he could pin him down against the table and jam his nose into the nape of his neck and _inhale_ him. It was fucking distracting.

 

It was why he needed a smoke so badly he'd brave the shitty cold weather for it. He hated this stupid bullshit (and Arakita would be caught dead before he'd use the word _crush_ ).

  
(And fuck Shinkai and his smug fucking know-it-all grin. Arakita was going to flush every protein bar he found down the toilet when he got back inside.)  

 

* * *

 

THURSDAY

 

 

  
Fukutomi's office was as austere as the officer himself.

 

There were no paintings on the walls or photographs on the desk. A small bookshelf was lined with research tomes and records. A sleek silver briefcase lay flat next to a humming monitor. Everything was clear of dust. A single potted plant was tucked away in the corner, looking almost apologetic for existing without a clear function.

  
The Rank 1 investigator sat stiffly in his swivel chair, palms flat on his knees. He was scarcely taller than Arakita, but Fukutomi's broad shoulders filled the lines of his white uniform in a way Arakita's scrawny figure never could. The unfinished reports were scattered across the desk surface between them, forgotten for the moment. Arakita busied himself by inspecting his fingernails instead of staring, but jumped when the baritone voice broke the silence.

  
"I am concerned about Manami. He has not come in today. Again," Fukutomi admitted, thick eyebrows drawn together. His dark eyes were unreadable, thin mouth twisted into a frown.

  
Arakita, slouched forward over the desk, made a scoffing noise. "That's nothing new," he muttered.

  
Fukutomi's frown deepened. He cleared his throat meaningfully, and Arakita sighed sharply, squirming in his chair.

  
"Haaa, so what if Fushigi-chan is a goddamn alcoholic now. S'not your place to worry. We're all fucked up, Fuku-chan. It's part of the job."

  
Fukutomi's gaze darted to one side. He said nothing.

  
Personally, Arakita wanted to punch Toudou in his stupid pretty face for being the first to die. The idiot got too close.

 

_Fuck ghouls._

 

This job would kill all of them sooner or later (sooner). They knew what they signed up for, but it was harder since Toudou's funeral to pretend they didn't.

 

It was frustrating to watch them all fraying at the seams because there wasn't a thing Arakita could do about it. Manami was already fucked up beyond repair. Shinkai was holding it together on the surface, but he also put in a request for his brother to get a transfer to their unit, just in case they wouldn't get a chance to see each other again. Arakita had to admit he admired the way Fukutomi remained so stoic, but he knew his partner was buckling under the weight of his guilt.

 

(Fuku-chan _hugged_ him at the funeral, something meaningful he'd been trying to forget ever since.)

 

Arakita just kept getting angrier, as though rage was the only emotion he had room for any more of. Guess that was how he coped with shit: get pissed off at every little thing around him.

  
"I intend to give him time to find his way again. But he needs a support system as well, so that he does not lose his way entirely," Fukutomi finally stated. His narrow gaze bored holes through Arakita, who didn't quite return eye contact.

  
"What does this have to do with me," Arakita grumbled. "It's not like I'm gonna be a role model."

  
"It is a request. I simply want you and the rest of our unit to support Manami should he reach out to you. He may be too stubborn to ask me directly for help. I ask you to disregard your feelings toward him, and give him what he needs for my sake."

  
Arakita groaned, dragging his hands quickly through his messy hair. "What a pain in the ass," he muttered. "Babysitting the wonderboy. You ask too much, Fuku-chan."

  
Fukutomi rocked back in his chair, quietly satisfied that Arakita had not openly refused. "I have already lost a friend to the ghouls. I do not wish to lose another to grief."

  
"Tch," Arakita scoffed. As if a kid obsessed with feeling alive would be the type to kill himself, through liquor or any other means.

 

_Manami will outlive us all, the smug brat._

  
He would have voiced this thought if Fukutomi weren't still staring him down, pinning him to the floor with the intensity of his gaze. (Maybe he didn't have to say it out loud. It felt like Fukutomi was reading him anyway.) He idly rubbed his bad elbow without thinking about it, foot tapping against the desk.

  
"My concerns are not unfounded. I cannot say with certainty what he is going through," Fukutomi stated carefully. "But if I were to lose my partner… I would be devastated."

  
Arakita felt his mouth go dry.

  
He couldn't quite look up, not when he could feel that stare penetrating his soul. Heat prickled up his cheeks and ears, flushing his face a healthy pink.

  
"'The fuck," he managed to wheeze eloquently. "Don't just blurt out shit like that. Idiot. Whatever, fill out those reports for tomorrow so I don't have to."

  
He stood up quickly, shoulders hunched, and stalked out of the office. They were done talking anyway. Time to get back to work.

  
(Fuku-chan didn't know what he was talking about. He was just saying shit to motivate him. Arakita was nothing special. He wouldn't be missed when he bit the big one.

  
Arakita knew he was replaceable. His old unit had taught him that.)  

 

* * *

 

FRIDAY

 

 

 

The sun was setting. The air temperature sank quickly (but it was too fucking cold already). Arakita watched sourly from a distance as the last few stragglers reluctantly left the building to brave the chill. Some were headed to the subway tunnel to disperse into Tokyo, others filing obediently onto the shuttle bus to the CCG barracks.

 

Arakita glanced at his phone. Still no reply. He drew a deep breath, swirling the taste of ash and tar on his tongue. Then he held it for a second too long, hot smoke tickling the back of his throat, and burst into a coughing fit. He flicked the cigarette to the pavement in annoyance – it was mostly done anyway – and coughed into the sleeve of his jacket.

 

From across the lot, he spotted a tall redhead who looked suspiciously like Shinkai enthusiastically waving goodbye. Arakita promptly flipped him off.

  
He wasn't leaving yet. For the record, Arakita had his own apartment – a tiny shithole that cost too much in rent considering how little time he spent there. It had no amenities and was basically an overpriced closet. He just needed his own space _somewhere_ in this swarming anthill of a city, and he refused to give it up despite the commute. (If only he could afford a replacement motorcycle.)

 

His phone remained silent. He resigned himself to another weekend without plans. Maybe he'd remember to hit up the 24-hour convenience store for pack of smokes, a bottle of soda, and instant ramen (and a can of cat food for the strays in the alley) before he crashed into bed tonight. Such was the glamorous routine of an investigator.

 

Then his phone buzzed, making him flinch. Trembling hands jammed into his pockets, the skinny man stomped back toward the courtyard. No use putting off the conversation any longer. It wasn't like he had anything better to do.

 

* * *

 

"I was beginning to think you'd changed your mind and left. You seemed like you might be avoiding me," Fukutomi stated impassively. Dark eyes studied Arakita as he stood in the threshold of the office.

  
"Shut up, Fuku-chan," Arakita muttered.

  
The skinny man yanked the door shut behind him and stalked around the desk, expression sour. Fukutomi simply watched as Arakita grabbed the back of the chair he was sitting in and pulled so it swiveled in his direction.

  
It was far from the first time he'd done this.

  
Fukutomi offered no resistance as Arakita clambered into his lap, eschewing grace for sheer eagerness. He drew his sharp knees up to his chest and draped his arms over those broad shoulders, neatly curling into the curve of his chest. A shaky breath caught in his throat.

 

All week, an entire stupid stressful pointless week, he had held back, too proud to beg for touch. Now the week was over and he couldn't wait any longer.

 

Arakita's hands slipped under the crisp uniform fabric, fingertips exploring the warm contours of corded muscle beneath. Their lips met with something akin to a sigh of relief; only then did Fukutomi's hands move in response, bracing Arakita's waist and settling in the small of his back.

  
They let this happen every once in a while. It started with the hug at the funeral. Then they embraced later, when Fukutomi wanted to talk about it. Now they kissed, sometimes, to let off steam when work got too stressful – to have some human contact when the loneliness came on too strong. They simply held each other, and it made everything alright for those brief moments. They didn't talk, during or afterward. Arakita craved it, though he was loathe to admit how much he looked forward to the attention.

 

So it was their strange little secret. Not that their colleagues would care if they were open about it; some, like Shinkai (that bastard), already teased Arakita about the hungry way he stared at his partner. It was something they didn't talk about simply because they weren't sure what to call it. And Arakita was afraid to ask.

 

They never went out after work unless it was with the whole unit; izakaya or karaoke on the weekends was not uncommon, but it was never just the two of them. And the job came first, always. This was simple fact, and he didn't want to hear it out loud. So they definitely weren't _dating,_ that much was obvious. And it was just kissing, and they were adults, and he didn't want it to _stop,_ so _..._ (Honestly, he couldn't tell if Fukutomi was just using it as some weird motivational tool, but he figured he was alright with being used for something like this. It was weird and _he_ was weird and it made his heart feel lighter and what the fuck ever.)

  
That was why Arakita could scarcely believe himself when he pulled back to catch his breath, and found words tumbling out where there should have been silence. _Fuck_.

  
"Fuku-chan, I know… I know this happens sometimes, and. You. You're my partner, but it's more than… ahh, shit," Arakita stammered, cheeks flushing. This was no longer familiar territory. He made a mistake. _Shut up before you make it worse-!_

  
The Rank 1 investigator was still. A strong arm wrapped firmly around Arakita's narrow waist, one hand warm along the jutting crest of his hipbone. He gazed solemnly into Arakita's eyes, who blushed even deeper and quickly stared up at the ceiling. It wasn't fair for him to smell so good, to feel so nice. It wasn't fair to make him want more than he deserved. It was okay like this, wasn't it? He didn't want it to end, but he was an idiot who had to go and _say_ shit.

  
"Haaa, you're fuckin' frustrating, you know that? Why'd you say that stupid shit the other day! It's been stuck in my head, and it's not the first time you've messed with my head, y'know?" Arakita snarled, smacking his partner lightly on the shoulder.

  
Fukutomi blinked quizzically. "Explain," he asked.

  
Arakita curled uncomfortably, re-positioning himself in the man's lap so that he was facing away, his back pressed against the broad chest. He could feel a steady heartbeat against his own. It left him dizzy.

  
"You-! All that bullshit you keep spewing about, about us, your team, how you need us. You make me think... well, what the fuck do you want from me! You ask too much!"

  
Fukutomi exhaled quietly before responding. The air tickled the back of Arakita's neck, who was so keyed up he flinched from that alone.

  
"Arakita, I do need my team. I must assemble the strongest team so that we can defeat the scourge of humanity. I will make Tokyo a safe place to live by eradicating the ghouls permanently."

  
"Yeah, yeah, but listen to yourself for once," Arakita mumbled. "When we're weak, when we fail, you gotta replace us. You gotta keep the team strong. Stop worrying over everyone. You can't be so nice if you wanna win."

  
Fukutomi huffed a soft laugh into Arakita's hair, who shivered.

  
"What the fuck-! I'm serious! Quit telling me you need me, you and I both know you don't."

  
Only the whir of the computer filled the silence that stretched between them. Arakita tensed. This was stupid. _He_ was stupid. Why did he say anything at all? He wanted to just make out and forget about all this sentimental bullshit, but now it was too late to take back what he said. He angrily dug his nails into his palms.

  
  
"Arakita... it sounds like you're mad at me for caring about you."

  
  
He couldn't tell if Fukutomi was accusing him or teasing him. With that stone-face, he wouldn't know even if he had the guts to stare him in the eye right now. (Which he did not.)

 

"I'm mad about everything," Arakita mumbled. He made to get up, but Fukutomi's arms hugged around his stomach, pulling him back. He snarled in annoyance, though he didn't fight it off. Pathetic.

  
"I will not apologize for caring. You work twice as hard as everyone else just to keep up. You have something to prove, and the determination to do it. You are moving forward, even if you do not believe it yourself." 

 

Arakita buried his burning face into Fukutomi's shoulder, trembling and mortified from the high praise. Fukutomi wasn't done. A hand rubbed comfortingly along Arakita's side, which he instinctively leaned into. 

 

"In the time you've been my partner, you have inspired me and renewed my commitment to my goal. I do need you, Arakita. Because you are strong."

  
His mouth went bone dry again. He couldn't deny it now even if he wanted to, and fuck, _fuck_ , this wasn't fair! It wasn't fair for one person to have this much sway over him. This wasn't supposed to be about _feelings_. Then Arakita felt the kiss press against his neck. An embarrassing noise squeaked out from what he prayed wasn't _him_ (it was). He was drowning in applewood and spice and this was not fair at all, _fuck!_

  
"Perhaps you have misunderstood my intentions," Fukutomi rumbled close to his ear. "I have always been honest with you. I meant it when I said I do not want to lose you. Not as my partner, and not as-"

  
"Stop," Arakita gasped.

  
He shoved Fukutomi back and scrambled to his feet, panting and disheveled. He was blushing furiously, hands shaking, heart slamming wildly in his chest, glaring with all the undignified force he could muster.

 

_What the fuck was this?!_

 

Either he was having a heart attack or his feelings were trying to kill him, and either way he'd welcome the violent death over standing here exposed for another second.

  
"Sh... shut up, Fuku-chan...! Don't... don't say any more, okay!" He snapped. "I, I'm shit with words. Don't talk anymore! Ever! I-! You're so-! _Fuck_ you!"

  
Fukutomi remained seated, something longing in his unblinking stare. His hands slowly lowered to his knees, nothing to hold anymore. He did not, however, look upset in the least, and Arakita let out a short screech.

  
"Aaaargh! I'll - this is - this is important to me, okay? So stop fuckin' worrying about everyone and don't get killed. Don't die on me and I won't die on you! So there!"

  
He whirled around and slammed the door open, ready to storm out. Then he halted in his tracks, stiffening as though he'd forgotten something.

  
Fukutomi had a small smile ghosting at the corners of his mouth as Arakita stomped back over to him. Roughly he grabbed Fukutomi's chin and lunged for an aggressive kiss, one that made Fukutomi hum appreciatively and lean into him.

  
Arakita growled as he broke off the contact as abruptly as he'd started, beady eyes glowering at the wall. What the fuck was he doing! His heart was flipping wildly in his chest and he felt like he was about to puke it out. He stood awkwardly with shoulders hunched high and teeth bared, looking like a flustered wild animal calculating an escape route. This was too much. Fukutomi was too much. 

  
As Arakita bolted out of the room without another word, face burning a deep crimson, he was struck by the realization that this was usually how these evenings ended, even when he didn't blurt out whatever stupid shit was on his mind. He always came back, no matter how embarrassed he was by his own neediness. They were back in familiar territory.

 

And now he had all weekend to stew about it, because he certainly couldn't _forget_ how Fuku-chan felt just now, _kissing him back,_ and then the next week would start all over again, and -

 

_Fuck, fuck, fuck my life-!  
_

**Author's Note:**

> well that certainly illustrates the diversity [of the word](https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/736x/98/95/bc/9895bc87e087625d24a8c57f6ef33278.jpg)


End file.
